Viktor makes a small, broken sound. “Alina, no. Don’t.Please.”
I move again, rounding the table before I even realize my feet are carrying me forward. Fury and terror collide in my chest, ripping through me like shrapnel. “Nikolai, this is insane?—”
“Why?” Alina asks.
That one word stops me dead in my tracks.
He seems to read the questions underneath what she’s really asking.Why me? Why put the decision in my hands? Why give me the power to shift the narrative in any way I choose?
He tilts his head slightly. “To survive in this world, we all need a little blood on our hands. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The words make my vision go red.
I want to scream and lunge and tear the gun from his grasp and put myself between Alina and every monster in this room including me. To keep her away from the truth that this world only respects and breeds violence and sacrifice.
Alina doesn’t look at me when she makes her decision. Instead, she inhales slowly, her shoulders lifting slightly with the motion. Then, she reaches out slowly and wraps her fingers around the grip of the gun.
Her thumb settles along the frame as she takes it in. Her grip tightens, testing the weight the way Nikolai did moments before. I can see it now in her expression, in how devastatingly composed she seems despite the nature of the task that’s beenplaced directly into her palms, that this moment is going to carve a permanent scar into her.
Nikolai releases the weapon completely.
The transfer is silent.
Final.
Alina lifts the gun in her hand and stares at it for another long moment. Then she turns and points it directly at her father. Her hand is steady, the barrel unmoving while aimed at its target. There is so much in her eyes, it nearly brings me to my knees. Grief. Rage. Love. Resolve. A terrible, crushing clarity.
Viktor stares down the barrel. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
“Alina,” I say hoarsely, taking a step toward her, my voice breaking despite every effort to keep it steady like her hand. “You don’t have to do this.”
For the first time, she finally looks at me.
“I know,” she says softly.
Then she turns back to her father. I don’t move to stop her this time.
“You made this choice for me years ago when you killed her. When you traded my life like I was just another object to cut yourself a better deal. You did this to yourself.” Her finger settles fully over the trigger, flexing. “Remember that when you are burning in hell.”
Nikolai watches, utterly enraptured.
The shot is deafening.
The sound tears through the room, sharp and absolute. The bullet leaves the chamber with a violent crack, the recoil snapping Alina’s arm back as it strikes Viktor square between the eyes.
There is no time for him to react.
The force pitches him backward out of his chair, the legs scraping uselessly against the floor as his body slams backward with a sickening thud. His head cracks against the chair, a loud gasp leaving his lungs.
Alina stumbles from the recoil, her breath tearing out of her as if she’s been struck too. Before she can fall, Nikolai’s hand is suddenly there, iron-strong, snatching her upright before she can. He holds her in place, keeping her on her feet.
For a heartbeat, no one moves.
Then, I do.
My vision tunnels as I glance down over the edge of the table, finding Viktor’s unblinking stare focused on the ceiling. His mouth is frozen in a silent scream. Blood blooms beneath his skull, seeping into the stone like ink onto paper. His chest shudders once, twice, each movement smaller than the last until a final rattling breath escapes him.
“He’s gone,” I say quietly.
